


all's well that ends well (to end up with you)

by tamquams



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish Loves Ronan Lynch, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Slow Dancing, Song: Lover (Taylor Swift), Songfic, Timeline? What Timeline?, all my characters are swifties and i'm not sorry, if you don't think ronan is a swiftie you're wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams
Summary: Ronan Lynch had a lot of secrets, very few of which he kept hidden from his boyfriend. But even Adam Parrish didn’t need to know aboutthis.This, of course, being his playlist of Taylor Swift songs.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 15
Kudos: 127





	all's well that ends well (to end up with you)

Ronan Lynch had a lot of secrets, very few of which he kept hidden from his boyfriend. But even Adam Parrish didn’t need to know about _this_.

 _This_ , of course, being his playlist of Taylor Swift songs.

If asked directly, Ronan wouldn’t lie about it. Yes, he enjoyed Taylor Swift’s music. No, it was not something he was ashamed of. It was irrefutable, he would insist, that she was one of the greatest musicians of the generation. Insinuating that her music was for girls was _sexist_ , it was _insulting_ , and quite honestly, it was just plain _wrong_. Anybody could enjoy Taylor Swift. So, Ronan did.

It wasn’t something that he actively _hid_. Not really. He just never played the playlist when Adam was around, never sang the music in the shower. It was something of a guilty pleasure, except that Ronan did not feel guilty about it, because he didn’t feel guilty about many things at all. Guilt was reserved for important things, like life and death situations. Taylor Swift's music, as heartbreaking as it could be, didn’t exactly fit the bill.

And, yet.

And yet, when he heard the crunch of gravel under tires as Adam pulled up to the Barns, Ronan hurried to stop the music that was pulsating through the speakers in the living room as he cleaned.

It was too hot of a day to work outside, Ronan had decided around midmorning, and he had spent his day alternating between straightening up the house and dreaming things for the new Cabeswater. When Adam finally got home from his shift at Boyd’s, he found his boyfriend folding laundry haphazardly in uncomfortable silence.

“Hey,” Adam drawled, padding into the room in sock feet — he had kicked his boots off at the kitchen door, as always — to come up behind Ronan and wrap his arms around his waist. He placed a soft kiss to the back of Ronan’s neck, just below his hairline, and Ronan hummed contentedly, throwing a pair of socks down on the couch.

“Hey,” Ronan murmured, turning around in Adam’s arms to plant a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips. They smiled against each other’s mouths for a moment, eyes unfocused, noses bumping. “How was work?”

Adam’s arms tightened slightly. “Boring,” he said indifferently, leaning his forehead against Ronan’s. “How was your day?”

“Very domestic,” sighed Ronan, his hands holding Adam’s hips gently. “I think I would make a really good housewife, just for the record.”

Adam chuckled lowly. “I’m sure you would.” He kissed Ronan again, slow and deep, and then pulled away. “I’m gonna change.”

Ronan frowned. “But you look so good.”

Adam looked down at himself, then rolled his eyes. He was still in his coveralls, stained with grease and oil and dirt, the top half undone and tied around his waist to show off an equally greasy and oily white t-shirt. His skin was moist with sweat, smudged with even more grease, and glowing with summer sunshine. Ronan wanted to devour him.

“I think we should talk about your thing for mechanics,” Adam said flatly.

Ronan smiled, sharklike. “I don’t have a thing for mechanics,” he said, grip tightening on Adam’s hips. “I have a thing for _you_.”

“Ugh. Gross.” Adam wrinkled his nose, but the softness in his eyes gave him away. He was enjoying the attention.

“Go clean yourself up,” said Ronan, turning back to the laundry, “and then you can come keep me company.”

Adam smiled, leaning in to kiss Ronan on the cheek, and then headed upstairs for a quick shower. Ronan didn’t bother turning his music back on — now that Adam was home, T. Swift time was over. He would just work in silence until his boyfriend returned.

Luckily, Adam never took more than fifteen minutes in the shower. He was still very adverse to the idea of wasting water, despite Ronan’s incessant reminders that they never ran out of hot water and they could afford the water bill. Ronan was folding the second of three loads of laundry when Adam returned to the living room, hair still wet, changed into a too-large black t-shirt and faded jeans.

The t-shirt, with its old Irish rock band logo and hem falling halfway down Adam’s thighs, obviously belonged to Ronan. Since they had started dating, Adam seemed to have developed a deep hatred for wearing any outfit that didn’t include something of Ronan’s, whether it was a t-shirt, hoodie, or even a pair of socks. It would’ve been annoying if it wasn’t so god damn endearing. 

“Why is it so quiet in here?” Adam asked, leaning back against the arm of the couch, just out of Ronan’s reach. “You hate the quiet.”

Ronan shrugged, digging around in the laundry basket for a sock that matched the one in his hand. “Wasn’t really in the mood for music,” he said, a half-truth that Adam obviously wasn’t totally buying.

“Okay,” Adam said after a moment, crossing his arms. He eyed Ronan suspiciously, then stood up straight. “Well, I am,” he said and he made a beeline for the computer across the room.

“Why do we need music?” Ronan asked, light panic rising in his chest before he reminded himself how ridiculous it was to be worried about Adam seeing his playlist. “Can’t we just enjoy each other’s company? Quietly?”

Adam didn’t even dignify that with verbal response. He just snorted, threw himself down in the chair beside Ronan’s laptop, pulled up Spotify, and then stared at the screen uncomprehendingly.

“Ronan?” he asked after a moment.

Ronan didn’t look up from the pair of boxers — his, technically, but more often than not stolen by Adam — he was folding. “Yes?”

“You didn’t tell me Opal figured out how to work a computer.”

Ronan sniffed indignantly. “She didn’t.”

“Then who was listening to Taylor Swift on your computer?” asked Adam after a beat.

Ronan pointedly ignored the warmness at the tips of his ears. “I was,” he said simply.

“Oh.”

There was silence in the living room for a moment, awkward, uncomfortable, and then suddenly the light strum of a guitar filled the air. Ronan still didn’t look at Adam.

And then there were hands on his shoulders, turning him around gently, and Adam was there, pulling him closer until they were practically chest-to-chest. Adam’s arms wrapped casually around his neck and he began to sway side-to-side, and Ronan’s hands instinctually found his waist, and it occurred to him that they were slow-dancing.

Adam met his eyes and began to sing along with the music, his voice quiet. “ _We could leave the Christmas lights up till January,_ ” he sang, the smallest of smiles on his lips. “ _This is our place, we make the rules. And there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear. Have I known you twenty seconds, or twenty years?_ ” 

Everything about it was so strange, so soft, that Ronan’s mind couldn’t immediately comprehend it. None of it belonged together; Adam, Taylor Swift, dancing, the scent of fresh laundry all around him — so nice, so gentle, so fucking domestic — his head was spinning — wait, no, _he_ was spinning, Adam was twirling him around like a girl at a school dance — Adam sang along louder now, more confident, and Ronan heard himself singing too.

“ _Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close, forever and ever? And oh, take me out, and take me home. You’re my, my, my, my… lover._ ”

Adam pulled Ronan flush against him again, their foreheads resting against each other. His breath smelled like spearmint; he must have brushed his teeth when he got home. They were so close that his lips brushed Ronan’s as he continued to sing along. “ _We could let our friends crash in the living room_ ,” he sang, voice low and steady, “ _This is our place, we make the call_.” Something about the way he sang the phrase ‘our place’ warmed Ronan’s entire heart. It was like when Adam referred to the Barns as ‘home.’ Another way to say ‘I love you.’ “ _And I’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you. I’ve loved you three summers now, honey, but I want ‘em all._ ”

As the chorus returned, Ronan lifted his arm to spin Adam this time, and Adam laughed, a free and wild and lovely thing. Ronan crooned the lyrics to him. “ _Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close, forever and ever? And oh, take me out, and take me home, forever and ever. You’re my, my, my, my… lover._ ”

Face to face again for the bridge, four blue eyes, pink cheeks pressed together, one of Ronan’s hands in Adam’s hair and the other on his lower back. “ _Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand? With every guitar string scar on my hand, I take this magnetic force of a man to be my… lover! My heart’s been borrowed and yours has been blue, all’s well that ends well to end up with you, swear to be overdramatic and true to my… lover!_ ” They were both laughing now, missing half the lyrics as they giggled, and Ronan dropped his head against Adam’s shoulder and pulled him even closer. “ _And you’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me… and at every table, I’ll save you a seat… lover!_ ”

It was Ronan’s turn to spin again, and Adam twirled him pleasantly, both of them laughing the whole time. “ _Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close, forever and ever? And oh, take me out, and take me home, forever and ever. You’re my, my, my, my… oh, you’re my, my, my, my… darling, you’re my, my, my, my… lover._ ”

Adam pressed a kiss to Ronan’s forehead as the song faded out, the room falling into silence again. This was the best type of silence, though: soft and comfortable and so full of love that it could hardly contain it. Ronan and Adam continued to sway for another minute, their breathing evening out, until finally Adam pulled away. 

“So,” he said, shit-eating grin plastered to his face. “Taylor Swift, huh?”

But Ronan was prepared for that. “You knew all of the words, too.”

Adam shrugged. “It’s a good song.”

“All of her songs are good,” said Ronan defensively. “You’re just blinded by the fucking social narrative that any woman who—”

Adam held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, _Blue_ , I get it. You’ve certainly listened to shittier music. Taylor Swift is a hell of a lot easier on the ears than the Murder Squash Song, I’ll give her that.”

Ronan grinned wickedly. “Murder Squash Song, you say?” He dodged around Adam and headed for the computer.

“Ugh, Ronan, don’t—”

“ _SQUASH ONE, SQUASH TWO—_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Ironically, I wrote 75% of this while listening to Love Is Strange by Mickey & Sylvia. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! If you wanna talk, request something, etc. you can find me on Tumblr @wespers! :)


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